Take a Hint, Dani Brown

by Talia Hibbert

Was he hearing things now? “Your grandmother did what?”

  Dani waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. If this will help you shine a spotlight on your, erm . . . Tackle It situation, well”—she shot him a wry smile—“I’ll consider it my good deed of the season.” She turned slightly, her gaze focusing on something to their right. “We have company, by the way.”

  It took Zaf a minute to process that, since his thoughts were still scattered by disbelief. “What?” He looked up, saw the trio of girls hovering a few meters away with their phones out, and scowled. “For fuck’s sake. I came out here to eat because everyone kept staring at my desk like I was a giraffe.”

  “Do you want publicity or not?” Dani asked sternly.

  No was his instinctive response. But the right kind of publicity, he reminded himself, could help in countless ways, so he’d better buck up. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

  “Then fix your face,” she told him.

  “What?” Zaf was saying that quite a lot at the moment. Understandably, he thought.

  “I’m the catch of the century on paper, if not in reality,” Dani said. “No one’s going to believe you’ve been blessed with my affection if you stand there glaring at everything like the world pissed on your pillow.”

  “What does that even—?”

  Before he could finish the question, she closed the space between them, her hands sliding over his shoulders and her tits—holy fuck—her tits pressing firmly against his chest, so soft and ripe and full he felt like he might pass out. The blood rushed to his cock so fucking fast it left him dizzy. Actual dark spots blinked in front of his eyes for a second. Apparently, Dani’s chest was as dangerous as a spear tackle.

  Made sense.

  In that moment, everything inside Zaf—including the cold marble of worry that lived in his gut—got really still and really silent, really fucking quick.

  An instant later, his body boomed back to life, every part of him hotter and harder than before. Raw, animal want ignited in his belly, spreading fiery tendrils through him until he vibrated with the need to touch her, grab her, something. His muscles tensed, his body tightened, the pulse of his blood ached beneath his skin. Then her hand cupped his face, and he was decimated. She looked at him with those eyes, those fucking eyes, and it felt . . . it felt like that moment in an apocalyptic film when the nuclear bomb drops. When an invisible force sweeps across a landscape—whoosh—and wipes out everything in its path.

  What the fuck was this? He’d known she was beautiful, and charming, and hypnotic. He’d known he was kind of—okay, completely—into her. But what. The. Fuck. Was. This?

  Something entirely new, that’s what. An alien species of lust. Did he kill it before it killed him, or watch and wait and see what happened?

  “Try to look enamored,” she murmured, a laugh in her voice. Maybe she didn’t know he was dying. Yeah, that had to be it. She tipped her head back and looked up at him through her lashes, a dare in her eyes. “You could even kiss me, if you like.”

  If he liked?

  Zaf had spent more time than was healthy, over the six months since he’d met Dani, wondering if she might be attracted to him. Now she was looking at him like he was dessert, her tongue gliding over her plush lower lip, asking if he’d like to kiss her. Hell yes, he’d fucking like. But . . .

  But she’d only suggested it because they were being watched, and knowing that cooled the burn of his desire, just a little.

  Not enough to stop, though. She bit her lip again and shifted, every lush curve pressing tight against him, and in that moment, Zaf knew the only thing that could stop him was her. Good-bye, self-control. We barely knew ye.

  “Unless you don’t want to,” she murmured after a moment, “which is also—”

  “I want to,” he said, because fuck that noise. Fuck even letting her finish that bullshit sentence. And then, before he could change his mind, Zaf made the only sensible choice he could and kissed the life out of Danika Brown.

  Chapter Six

  @BASICJELLYBABY: #DrRugbae sighting! GOALS AF.

  Every month, Dani and her sisters received money from the family trust, and every month, Dani donated 90 percent of it to various causes. Considering that charitable history, her agreeing to this fake relationship scheme was entirely in character: she was doing it, clearly, for the sake of the children.

  Technically, that implied she was going to kiss Zafir in front of a group of spying undergrads for the children, too, but Dani had other reasons. This physical contact seemed a sensible way to determine whether Zaf might be seduced away from his romantic ideals and into her bed—temporarily, of course. Until she got bored of him. Or until he met someone else, someone serious, someone who didn’t accidentally work through their partner’s birthday parties or, when asked what day it was, respond with “The date of Sylvia Plath’s death” instead of “Our anniversary, of course, darling.”

  Ahem. For example.

  So, yes: kissing Zaf was entirely practical. Until it wasn’t.

  One minute he was staring down at her with a slightly astonished expression; the next his endless eyes were hooded and one of his big hands was cupping her nape, the other grabbing her hip. It was around that point when Dani forgot the definition of the word practical, and also how to spell it, and also whether it was English or French or possibly Latin. One slight, restrained squeeze from Zaf, and her thoughts were thrust toward bare, sweat-slicked skin and gasping breaths, moans intermingling and thrusts timed with the pounding of her heart.

  Then his lips brushed hers, and everything changed completely.

  So soft, so sweet, that butterfly graze. A cautious, barely there kiss that made something in her belly seem to sparkle and fizz, that made her hands shake as she slid her fingers through the rough silk of his hair. Zaf tasted like rich, warm comfort and straightforward sweetness, sherbet-sharp and almost, impossibly, familiar. She could feel the tip of his nose against her cheek, could feel his eyelashes brushing her own. Time suspended, like he’d cupped the sands of an hourglass safely in his palms, and the sensation was so breathtakingly strange that she might do something awful, like crack into a thousand tiny pieces, or ask him for more.

  He angled his head, increased the pressure, and parted her stunned lips easily, his tongue a dart that sampled her in little, teasing sips. The way he touched her, the way his big body curved around her, all that said possession. But the way he kissed her, slow and gentle, tiny gifts of pleasure rippling the surface of her still lake—the way he kissed her said care.

  And it worked. Dear fucking Lord, did it work. Dani was helpless and hopeless and mindless in seconds, tilting her head and opening for him, rubbing her aching breasts against his chest because she knew without a doubt he was the source of all relief, pressing her thighs together as liquid heat ruined her knickers, clinging to him as the race of her heart and the thick honey of her pulse joined forces to make her breaths faint and her knees weak.

  Then everything stopped.

  Zaf pulled back, and awareness came to her in slow waves. First was the sound of him panting as if he’d run a mile, and that was satisfying enough to make Dani almost forget that he’d just wiped her mind clean with his mouth. Almost.

  Second came the realization that her feet weren’t on the floor anymore. Apparently, he’d gotten tired of bending down for her and had simply wrapped an arm around her waist and . . . picked her up. Only a little bit, until their mouths were level. Now he put her down just as easily, her body sliding over his as he lowered her to the floor. There was a close, dark world between them, made up of shadows and those goddamn, dizzying pants. Of the hitch in Dani’s breath and the rigid line of Zaf’s erection, jabbing her stomach.

  As far as seduction went, that was a wonderful start. Now, if only she was more certain of who had just been seduced.

  “That was fun,” Dani managed after a moment, hoping she sounded more in control than she felt.

  Zaf blinked rapidly, each flick of those long, dark
lashes almost hypnotic. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough at the edges, crumbling like brick. “Okay. Yeah. That. Fun. You—think so?”

  “Yes,” she repeated slowly, because he’d clearly gone a bit dizzy. At least she wasn’t the only one who’d temporarily lost control of her faculties. Dani leaned into his erection, and felt a wave of reassurance when he sucked in a breath and screwed his eyes shut. This was how things were supposed to go; people touched, bodies reacted, promises of pleasure were fulfilled. She gave what she was capable of, and he accepted.

  Yes. All was absolutely in order. And if she’d felt some odd, additional, heart-pounding, hand-shaking need that was flavored distinctly like Zaf, as if he, specifically, mattered—well. Clearly, that was another sign. The universe’s final kick, just to make sure she took the hint.

  “Are our watchers still here?” Dani asked, because someone had to say something, and she didn’t want to scare him off by suggesting they find an unoccupied bathroom somewhere.

  “No,” Zaf said. “No, they’re gone.” Then he stepped back, putting some space between them, and said awkwardly, “I need to . . . get rid of this.” A nod southward.

  A delighted grin spread over her face. “Zafir!” Maybe he’d be up for the bathroom after all.

  “Not like that,” he snorted. “I meant I need you to leave.”

  “Oh.” She tried not to pout. “Fair enough.”

  “Sorry, by the way. About, er . . .”

  “Stabbing me in the stomach with your massive cock? That’s okay.”

  Zaf coughed, spluttered, managed to choke on fresh air, then bent double as he wheezed. Dani watched him in mild alarm. Clearly, it would take a while to open his starry, romantic eyes to his destiny of being casually screwed by one Danika Brown on a semiregular basis. Aaand Zaf was still coughing. Should she administer the Heimlich? Maybe, but she wasn’t entirely confident she could get her arms around him . . .

  Before she could further consider the logistics, Zaf caught his breath and straightened up, his cheeks flushed dark. “Bloody hell, Danika. And here I was worried about freaking you out.”

  “What? Am I supposed to be offended that kissing me gets you going? It’s just a bodily function, Zaf.”

  “Oh, never mind,” he muttered, throwing up his hands and looking as if he generally despaired of her. “You try to be a gentleman—”

  “Attempting to be gentlemanly after fucking my mouth was never going to work.”

  “I did not fuck your mouth,” he said, apparently quite outraged. “I just—actually, you know what? This conversation is not helping my dick. Go away. My lunch break ends in”—he checked his watch and swore—“five minutes. Seriously, disappear.”

  “Fine,” she snickered, “but we need to swap numbers so we can coordinate shenanigans.”

  “Shenanigans,” he repeated dryly.

  “Well, I’m not going to say ‘so we can coordinate our fake relationship,’ am I?”

  “But you just said it.”

  She narrowed her eyes and muttered, “Shut up and give me your phone.”

  * * *

  Zaf was used to sleepless nights. No matter how hard he tried, nine times out of ten, his brain wouldn’t turn off without the help of medication. But, since that same medication made his early mornings at work a fucking nightmare, he tended to save it for the weekends. So, spending Wednesday night staring at his bedroom ceiling? Pretty routine.

  But the kaleidoscope of need coloring his mind was nothing he’d ever dealt with before.

  Danika, Danika, Danika. Hours had passed since he’d seen her, but she still dominated his thoughts. He’d been trying so hard to stop wanting her so badly—but then she’d agreed to be his fake girlfriend and kissed the sense out of him. So what the hell was he supposed to do now?

  Be grateful for the help and wank over the kiss, apparently.

  He’d already jerked off twice—once as soon as he got home, once in the shower after a Tackle It session—but he was ready to go again. Which, for a thirty-one-year-old man, could not be healthy. Then again, like she’d said: It’s just a bodily function.

  Right. Except he’d kissed other women and managed to walk away without developing the libido of a fucking rabbit. Of course, he couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had sparked in his chest like this, had left him on the edge of combustion in a thousand ways. He’d wanted to grab her the second she’d let go, and his hands still ached to hold her now.

  Meanwhile, she’d probably forgotten all about it.

  It was depressing, how that possibility—no, that probability—got him down.

  “I’m too fucking old for this,” he muttered—the horniness and the crush. But he was still thinking of her, because he couldn’t stop, and his cock was hard and in his hand beneath the covers, because of course it was. The tiny, breathless noises Dani had made as he kissed her filled Zaf’s ears like surround sound. His free hand flexed around the ghost of her lush hip. Her taste, cool mint and honeyed brilliance, flooded his mouth like water after a drought. He was remembering the rhythm of her desperate, hitching breaths, squeezing his dick as his balls tightened, when the sound of his phone’s text tone startled him out of his skin.

  For fuck’s sake.

  Zaf groaned, teetering on the edge of ignoring that bloody thing for once. Then he sighed, gave up on his dick, and picked up the phone. He never could ignore a text or a call. It wasn’t as if everyone in the world had his number, only the people who needed it—the people who might need him.

  Squinting at the harsh light of the display, he saw Danika’s name and felt his heart kick happily in response. Shit. That couldn’t be good.

  He liked her way too much, and he knew it. In the books Zaf read, making out with a friend usually lead to a happy ending, as did faking a relationship with one. But in reality, she wasn’t interested, and if he didn’t get these feelings under control, he’d only end up hurting himself.

  Not safe, his nervous heart whispered. Not safe at all.

  DANIKA: Can I tell my sisters we’re faking it?

  She texted like she talked: no hellos or good-byes, no context. There was no reason for that to make Zaf smile, so he rubbed a hand over his beard and forced himself to frown instead. Yeah. Much better.

  ZAF: If you think you need to.

  DANIKA: Oh, good, because I already did.

  His laughter bounced around the walls of his dark, empty bedroom.

  DANIKA: How long is this whole arrangement supposed to last, anyway?

  For some reason, his gut response was forever. Ha. Not fucking likely.

  ZAF: My niece reckons we should milk it, but I think interest will die down quickly. People have better shit to do. Let’s say . . . a month, to be safe?

  DANIKA: Oh, so now your niece is on in this? Corrupting innocents, hmm?

  ZAF: Hard to corrupt a mastermind.

  DANIKA: Well, damn. Fair enough. And a month sounds doable. By the way, shouldn’t you be asleep right now?

  ZAF: Probably. Shouldn’t you?

  DANIKA: Working. This is my breaktime entertainment. So try to be more entertaining.

  He snorted, shaking his head. Working at this time? Of course she was.

  ZAF: Anyone ever tell you you’re really up yourself?

  DANIKA: Of course they have. You told me about a month after we met.

  That one left him staring at the screen for a while. She remembered random things he’d said a month after they met? Maybe he’d upset her, and it had stuck in her head. Or maybe not, because the phone beeped, and another text appeared.

  DANIKA: You’ve never seemed to mind it, though, so don’t start now.

  It must be exhaustion—or perhaps it was the possibility that the wrong answer might hurt her feelings. Whatever the reason, Zaf found himself typing recklessly and sending without thought.

  ZAF: I don’t. I like it.

  DANIKA: My sisters saw the video and they think you like ME.

  He swallowed. His
eyes felt heavy all of a sudden. Maybe it was eye strain, maybe it was surprise sleepiness, or maybe his body was trying to send him into hibernation so he wouldn’t have to deal with this embarrassment. Was the fact he had a thing for her that obvious?

  ZAF: I do like you. You’re my fake girlfriend.

  A pathetic half lie, but what was he supposed to do? Admit her smile gave him butterflies, and force her to let him down gently? She’d told him loud and clear she didn’t do that kind of thing. Friendship and faking it, that was all he should want from Danika—all he did want from Danika, because he knew what was good for him.

  But then the memory of her mouth smacked him over the head, and he thought about her dazed, hot-treacle eyes the moment after they’d kissed, and . . . She’d said she enjoyed it. Did that mean she wanted more? Would he give her more, if she asked? No, he shouldn’t. Zaf might not practice his religion, but he’d grown up believing sex meant something. He still believed that. Some people could do casual, but it would probably melt his brain.

  Then again, you don’t know until you try.

  Ah, shit.

  DANIKA: I thought as much. Breaktime’s over now. I give your entertainment value 6/10.

  ZAF: I’m offended.

  DANIKA: Keep that fire burning. Hopefully it will motivate you to do better next time.

  Next time came three hours later. He was still awake, turning her—all of her—over in his mind, when the phone chirped again.

  DANIKA: If you answer this, I’ll be deeply worried for your sleep cycle.

  He was already grinning as he picked up the phone.

  ZAF: Be worried, then. I’m worried about how long you work between breaks.

  DANIKA: Be worried, then.

  He was laughing when the phone rang, her name lighting up the screen.

  * * *

  Dani was propped up at her desk, staring sightlessly at her panel notes, listening to the phone’s soothing dial tone and trying not to stumble into sleep.

  Tiredness wasn’t great for mental processing: she knew this. But she also wanted—needed—to kill the upcoming feminist lit panel, and since it was a discussion rather than an essay or presentation, there was no knowing what kind of research it might require. So she would complete all the research, just to be sure. If there was one thing Dani could excel at, it was this. Inez Holly would not catch her stuttering, no, sir.